


The Evidence of Things Not Seen

by SnowHeart



Series: Genetics [2]
Category: James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, Feels, Q is a Holmes, i still don't even know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowHeart/pseuds/SnowHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish Watson-Holmes was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He wasn't stupid. He had known all along that it might come down to this, that he could trust no one in his world. Human error, of course. It was funny, really. Who'd have thought it would turn out to be the death of him?</p><p>Life is never simple for a Quartermaster, but with omnipotent relatives, geniuses hell-bent on revenge, and a traitor in the mix, Hamish definitely doesn't get paid enough to deal with this crap.</p><p>ON INDEFINETE HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The other thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Genetics, Tea and Other Such Influences, and while it's not necessary to read that first this story might make more sense if you do. I'm afraid that my posting will be a bit more erratic than last time but I'll do my best with it. Thanks to everyone who has shared the love with this story so far - you guys make a writer's world go round. x
> 
> Oh, and this will completely ignore Spectre and anything from the Abominable Bride because it's pretty AU anyway and I'm far too lazy ;)

A quartermaster has many roles. He must equip his field agents for whatever a mission could throw at them, and be the voice of reason in their ears when it does. He must ensure that his country is ahead of the curve in terms of technology and play an active role in keeping it that way. He must have eyes on every square mile of the globe, and ears in every room. And, increasingly, he must be involved in the security of MI6 itself.

Hamish was sure the job never used to be this complicated. The Q’s of old were men in white coats who spend their days holed up in a lab somewhere, finding the most unconventional way to hide a camera, or the quickest way to make something go boom. They never had to concern themselves with the politics of the whole thing. Their top secret files were kept under lock and key, not relying on a few lines of computer code to hide them from the world. So of course it would be on his watch that the Quartermaster suddenly became responsible for protecting state secrets from prying eyes.

But that wasn’t his job right now (although now he considered it, the firewall could probably do with some tinkering when he got some time.) No, right now his job was to ensure that one of MI6’s most valuable assets didn’t get themselves blown up. One of MI6’s most irritating arse too, he mused, as his earpiece crackled into life.

“You know, I really don’t understand why the pyramids are so special. They’re just lumps of rock, right?”

“Could be something to do with the four thousand year history?” Hamish suggested lightly.

“No, I don’t think it’s that at all. I think it’s an ego thing.”

“And you’d know all about that I’m sure.”

“You wound me, Q.”

Hamish could hear the mocking in James’s tone, even through the static he would have to fix later, and didn't rise to the bait. It was just like the agent to try to tease him into an argument in the middle of a vital mission to recover some highly sensitive documents in Cairo. Instead, he simply rolled his eyes and adjusted his equipment.

“You’re no fun.” James complained a minute later.

“Oh you’re right, I’m so sorry. I forgot it was my job to keep my agents entertained.”

“Well, it sort of is. Who knows what trouble I’ll get into if I’m bored? And you know you’ll only have to clear it up.”

Good God, James was impossible. It was moments like this that Hamish really, really hated the man. And of course, by hated he meant the other thing. He sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with him, that this walking innuendo with a death wish could mean so much to him, but if so, he was in good company. Normal had always been a relative term as far as his life was concerned and, now he came to think about it, Hamish wasn't sure he knew a single person who would fit the traditional description. Yes, there was most definitely something wrong with him, so it was probably for the best he worked for MI6.

“Get some sleep, 007.” He instructed. “It looks set to be all quiet on your front for a while.”

“And what if I feel like staying up? Care to make it worth my while?”

Hamish bit back a grin. He couldn’t deny he was tempted, but Tanner still hadn't forgiven him for the last time he’d been forced to check over the late night communication logs. He really didn't want to end up sued for emotional trauma or something And besides, he should probably take his own advice and get some sleep himself. Hamish had lost count of how many hours straight it had been since he went home, and a little voice in the back of his head (sounding eerily like his Dad) was reminding him that that probably wasn't a good thing. So he just smiled.

“Get your arse back to England in one piece. Then we’ll talk.”

“What did you say about my arse?”

“ _Goodnight_ , Bond.” He clicked off the communications and sighed. He was used to having James on the other side of the world, of course, and there was no doubt that the man could take care of himself. Still, it didn't mean he had to like the chunks of time when the only contact they had was down the MI6 comm line and he was forced to put his role as Quartermaster first. Their relationship (for want of a better word, Hamish still wasn't sure how he to define this thing between them) was one of MI6’s worst kept secrets. Eve had known straight away of course - it was impossible to get anything past her and sooner or later everyone else had worked it out. Bond didn't exactly do subtlety for one thing (if his flirting had been shameless before Spain, it was nothing on now) and Hamish had long since given up caring what people thought about him.

The doors of Q-branch clicked behind him, and Hamish looked around, one hand inching for the pistol strapped to the underside of his desk.

“Not interupting, am I Q?”

He relaxed, silently cursing his own jumpiness. “006, come in. We weren’t expecting you back in the country until Friday.”

The agent flashed one his smiles, a grin of overly-perfect white teeth that had the criminal masterminds of the world falling at his feet. “Ah well, you know how I love to exceed expectations. Had to cut the trip to Rome short, my mark ended up at the bottom of the Tiber.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh don’t be, I put him there. R should be briefing you tomorrow.”

Just another day at the office then. Good to know that nothing ever changed. “You have my equipment?”

006 grimaced. “Most of it. Afraid the EMT didn't make the return journey.”

Hamish knew he shouldn't be surprised any more. After James, 006 had always caused him the most headaches. “For God’s sake, I’m going to start billing you. You’re certain it’s destroyed though? I don't want that sort of tech out there for anyone to find.”

“Comprehensively.”

He didn't even want to what that meant. James and the gun that gotten eaten by a Komodo dragon still held the record for the best excuse, but there had been some close runners up in recent months, all from 006. How they were allowed to play with the dangerous toys he built was beyond Hamish. Still, 006 filled in the paperwork without complaint and was just turning to leave when his laptop began to beep. “

Someone’s popular,” the agent noted dryly.

Hamish rolled his eyes. “Just ignore it. He’ll give up eventually.”

“Who?”

“Mycroft. He’s got this little hacker group he wants me to crash, and apparently telling him where to stick it wasn't enough to get him to drop it.”

006 shook his head. “Mycroft Holmes, that is? Wow. How is it that you’ve never been fired?”

“I must have friends in high places.” Well, not so much friends as irritating relations who won't leave him alone, but the whole of MI6 didn't need to know that.

“Clearly. Go home, Q.” The agent laughed as he left the room and Hamish smiled fondly after him. He was (apart from James, of course) probably his favourite of all the double-0s, easy going and with a sense of humour that somehow survived their line of work. There was precious little of that left around Vauxhall Cross - the job left its scars on all of them, sooner or later. For his part Hamish had an ugly red one right across his pale stomach and a stupid habit of jumping at loud noises all these months later. Nothing he couldn't deal with, of course. His preferred method of dealing just happened to be reassuring everyone he was fine burying his head in work when they weren't around. Speaking of which, he still wasn't happy with the frequency of the emergency beacon he was working on. He could make it less detectable, he was sure. So, inevitably he forgot all about his vow to go home, until another ping from his laptop jerked him awake with a start. Silently vowing to never tell Eve about this (he would never hear the end of it), Hamish peeled the blueprints off his face and looked around blearily.

The laptop pinged again and he cursed. God _dammit_ , Mycroft, it was the middle of the night. He was tired and hungry, and just wanted to home. So tired, he would realise later, that he hadn't even noticed that it wasn't the sound of an email coming through at all. Grumpily, he grabbed the damn computer off his desk, intending to send a scathing and highly ungrammatical request that his dear uncle please bugger off, but instead found himself staring uncomprehendingly at the lines of code dancing down the screen and the red box flashing a warning and screaming in alarm.

 Hack.

His blood ran cold, and suddenly he was wide awake. “No, no no, no,” he muttered, because all he could think was _not again_. Last time he had watched his network be attacked like this it had cost them M and very nearly everything. And it had all been his fault.

As if waiting for that bombshell to hit home, all the other computers took up the alarm cry, their screens blaring red. He turned slowly, taking in the sight of their walls coming crumbling down, and then something kicked into gear in his head.

“Like hell you are,” he growled. “Get out of my system.”

Hamish was good at what he did. As in _very_ good. So really, it should have taken him longer to work out why his counter-attack wasn’t holding. Maybe he hadn't wanted to consider it, which was why the thought never even crossed his mind. But as the alarm wailed higher and higher, ringing in his ears just within hearing range the realisation crashed around him. Because they weren’t being hacked at all. They were being scrambled, and someone inside the server was doing it. This was one of them. All Hamish could do was stare at the screen in cold horror, noticing too late the way the air had started to vibrate with the frequency of the sound being blared out from every computer around him. Too late he realised what was about to happen.

“Oh,” was all he could manage to say, before a wave of pure energy blasted through the room. The force of it threw him backwards, every screen in the room shattering outwards. And the last thing Hamish saw before the darkness took him were the particles of broken glass, catching the light like diamonds as they fell to earth.


	2. That's everything

“For God’s sake, Eve, I’m fine.”

She crossed her arms in disproval. “You didn't look fine last night.”

“It was just a little electromagnetic pulse. My security systems worked exactly how I designed them to, I was just stupid enough to be standing in the way.”

“Stupid enough? What were you even doing here in the middle of the night? And how do you think I felt finding you like that? After last time?” Her voice trembled with fury. “Seriously Q, how do you do it?”

Hamish sat quietly through the dressing down (because his headache didn't allow for much else if for no other reason) and looked up at her innocently. “So you’re not going to help bust me out of medical then?”

“Did I say that?” And God, Eve’s smiles could be dangerous.

Twenty minutes later, and Hamish crashed onto her sofa. He had wanted to home, but Eve had sworn to get some real food in him and she didn't seem to count biscuits for some reason, which was probably all he had. And besides, there was no denying that her sofa was infinitely more comfortable than his own.

“So I’m guessing you want to know what happened?” he asked.

“Hold up on the explanation there, Sparky. If they decide to bring me inside on this I’ll be briefed later.”

He frowned up at her. “Since when do you wait to be brought inside? Or care about official briefings?”

“Okay, you got me there. But wait a bit, yeah? I’m expecting company and I don’t want you going through it twice. I mean no offence, but you look awful.”

“Thanks for that. Who are we waiting on?”

She shot him a withering look and he groaned. “Dammit Eve, you called him? He can’t be distracted out there!”

“Of course I didn't call him, idiot. But he’ll be here within the hour. And in the meantime you’re going to eat something.”

Hamish rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny that one pasta bowl later he felt a lot better. And (of course) she was proved right some time later by a thump outside.

“What do you think?’ she asked Hamish with a grin. “Fire escape or swinging straight through the window?”

“Doesn’t he have a key?”

“And?.” It was the fire escape. What was it about the people in Hamish’s life that had a flair for the dramatic? He tried to shoot the agent a scathing look as he entered the room, only to be thwarted by a stab of pain in his temple. When he opened his eyes (not having noticed closing them) he was looking straight into a pair of bright blue eyes. There was concern behind them, and also an icy fury that belonged behind the barrel of a gun. But his voice was surprisingly soft when he spoke.

“You’re okay?”

“Fine. Really.”

Hamish could hear how unconvincing his words were, but whatever he would have said next were swallowed by a kiss that spoke of reassurance and relief and here. Hamish could still taste the dusty desert on James’s lips, and feel the blisters on the fingers that gently cupped his cheek. Who would have ever thought that these would be the things he craved, what he couldn't live without?

“What are you even doing here? You should be in Egypt.”

“Done. This is more important anyway.”

“As much as I hate to say so, I’ve got a feeling you’re right.” He turned to look at Eve as well. “I’ve got a feeling this is really, really bad.”

He told them everything. Hamish could probably count the number of people he trusted unconditionally on one hand, but who would make that list if not them? Eve paled as he explained how the attack had come from within their own servers and what he feared it meant. James, who had been as unmoving as a statue so far tuned to him with urgency in his voice.

“You can’t tell them, Q.”

“What?”

“When you give your official briefing you have to lie. Tell them it was an outside source, that you couldn't trace the signal, anything. We don’t know how far deep this thing goes, and until we do it stays between us.”

“You’re joking?”

“He’s right.” Eve’s voice was perfectly steady, as if they were discussing what to have for lunch instead of pulling one over on the British Security Service (for the second time in his career to top it off). “There’s no telling who we can trust. We have to deal with this ourselves.”

Hamish looked from one face to the other. Both were deadly serious, and not the kind of expressions you could argue with. “Fine. I should be the only one able to understand the data we get after my security systems are through with the network, so hopefully no one can call us out on it.” His mind switched into gear, despite the persisting headache. He was already thinking tracers, possible motives, how to investigate without anyone noticing. It was madness he knew, with the whole of MI6 as potential moles. But he didn't see that there was much choice. _Bugger_.

 

For all that he was prone to being awkward at times, Hamish was a master when it came to lying. It was yet another skill from his childhood that had proved to be very transferable to the world of work, or at least the world of MI6 anyway. And that afternoon, he sat in front of the senior staff of the organisation, in front of M who he had come to respect enormously, of Tanner, one of the last honest men in the business, and of all the other government suits who, once upon a time, had scared the hell out of him, and lied through his teeth. His voice was even as he described the cyber attack that attempted to breach his walls, with just the right mixture of embarrassment, anger and determination to tell them how he had been unable to trace the source before his electromagnetic pulse blew the system (and himself) into shutdown and how he would endeavour to seek out those responsible. As M nodded in approval, Hamish glanced down at his right hand. It was perfectly still.

“And you have no leads so far?” M asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No other information you can tell us?”

_Only that someone I trust tried to hack us last night and I don't know who. It could even be you._ “No, Sir. That’s everything.”

“Very good then. Take the rest of the day off, Quartermaster. Good work.”

Guilt twisted in his gut like a knife as Hamish inclined his head modestly and left the room. Whatever wrongs he had done over the years, loyalty had always been a constant in his life. Drilled into him from a young age, not since his hacking spree when he was sixteen had Hamish worked against Queen and Country, and what he was doing (had already done) amounted to little less than treason. But the worst thing about this whole mess? He was sure it was the right thing to do.

 

“It would seem that you’ve got some competition, Quartermaster.”

Hamish groaned. That was probably the last voice he wanted to hear right now. He pushed his way through the door and, sure enough, his uncle was sitting at the kitchen table, idly flicking through the paper. He didn't consider his words worthy of a response, but after a moment of stoney silence Mycroft continued on unperturbed. “And somehow managing to endanger yourself without even leaving the office… Well, there’s no need for a paternity test, that’s for sure. Perhaps we should get you some minders.”

“What do you want?” Hamish growled. His headache was back with full force and he couldn't be bothered to read between the lines of the conversation to find out what they were really talking about. “You know how I hate to be right-“ (Hamish snorted, Mycroft continued as though he hadn't heard) “- but my people have been working since you gave your statements. For the firewalls you designed to be compromised like that, we’re dealing with a particular class of problem.“

His uncle pushed a file towards him and Hamish frowned as he recognised the contents. “You should have taken the job when I gave it to you,” Mycroft scolded. “And perhaps this little cyber circle would be behind bars by now, and I wouldn't be getting calls in the middle of the night telling me that my nephew has gotten himself caught in his own security systems.”

Hamish opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it again. There was something in Mycroft’s usually so stoic voice that made him stop. Maybe Spain hadn't just left its scars on him. And what was more, he realised suddenly, was that he was going to have to take this job. He couldn't afford to let his uncle know that something was up, and Mycroft would expect him to want to hunt down anyone who might have helped attack his network with a vengeance. And these hackers might just prove to be the perfect cover while he hunted down the real mole. So Hamish would just have to play his part. But then again, he was good at that.

Studying the file more closely, he smiled a wolfish smile that he hoped promised to bring the Watson-Holmes kind of hell raining down around them. “Consider it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say my posting would be a bit on the slow side...  
> Hope y'all had happy holidays (and everyone in the sherlock fandom survived January 1st...)
> 
> x


	3. Two-way mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I have no excuse for abandoning this story for so long. If it's any consolation, I've had to ditch all my writing for 6 months or so, but hopefully I'm back now. Thanks to everyone who has read and commented in the meantime... will you accept an extra-long chapter 3 by way of apology?  
> x

It went like this. Hamish would get up, drink his tea, and go to work like always. He would spend the day testing equipment, guiding agents through missions, and hunting down leads the illusive circle of hackers. It was widely known around MI6 just how close the group had come to doing significant damage to their network and, more importantly, their quartermaster, and Hamish would regularly be asked how the investigation was going. He would smile ruefully, tell them “Slow progress, I’m afraid,” and only when they had walked away would he allow himself to frown at the back of their heads and wonder if they were a traitor. He would inspect blueprints, have be reminded to eat lunch, and sit at his desk in the evening and watch the branch slowly empty. And only when he was alone with the whirr of computers and sea of flashing lights on the wall, only then would he call down Eve (and James, when he was in the country) and pull out a battered laptop from under his desk that no one else knew existed. Only then would his real work begin.

Progress was slow, painfully slow. The three of them may be the very best at what they did, but carrying out a secret investigation in a place where information was currency wasn't exactly a picnic. Hamish could see his own frustrations echoed back by his friends, in the way would sigh as they hit another dead end, and in James’s stoney silences. It was getting to them all, but what else was there to do?

“Hey, Q, you with us?’

Hamish blinked at the voice and pulled himself back to reality with a start. Yesterday had been another fruitless failure and the long nights were starting to get to him, it would seem, if he was zoning out on the job. R stood in front of him, a sympathetic smile on her face and he shot her a rueful grin in return.

“Of course. What do you need?”

“A pay rise?”

“Not my department. Next?”

“Management just sent these down.” She handed him a brown envelope, and a quick glance told him it was a mission briefing. “They wanted you to look over the details before giving the green light to 006, considering this is your area of expertise. Plus they probably figured you’d want to be involved on this one.”

Paying attention for real now, Hamish examined the document more carefully. And felt something constrict in his chest.

“This is the group of hackers? They’re sure of it?”

She shot him an odd look. “I should hope so. You’re the one who pulled together the briefs.”

“I didn’t think management would put a mission together so soon.”

“What did you expect. boss? The whole thing’s been fast-tracked. They got into our system. That’s enough paint themselves red even before they got you hurt… You know 006 asked to be put on this detail specifically, just for that?”

Hamish re-read the information in front of him and the dread settled heavier still in his stomach. 

“Are you okay?” R asked with some concern. “You’ve gone all pale.”

‘Yes, yes,” he muttered distractedly, almost tripping over his desk in his rush to get to the door. “Tell Him I’m coming up. Don’t let them do a thing until I get there!”

 

“Out of the question.” 

“I don’t see why not.”

M frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “You’re far too valuable an asset to risk on a mission like this.”

“Please.” Hamish resisted the eye roll, but it was a close thing. “It’s barely a mission at all. This is an arrest.”

“Then we shouldn't need your input. 006 requested this job specifically, and he is more than capable…”

“I know.” Hamish took a deep breath, glancing down at the files spread out on the desk. A detailed map of Barbican had spilled from one of the envelopes. Things were spiralling out of control, and fast. What with their night-time searches turning up jack, he hd been relying on the cover of the hacker circle for weeks, at least. He couldn't have anyone questioning why he had suddenly started working later and later into the night. And he definitely couldn't have anyone finding out that the group they had just arrested had nothing to do with the attack on MI6. Not when there was so much riding on him finding the mole. He would have to do this the hard way, it seemed. But then, what was a little dignity in return for national security? 

“It’s not that you need me to do this. _I_ need me to do this. This whole experience, it’s… it’s bringing stuff up again, and if I can just see it through….” He looked up at M, the slightest quiver in his voice and eyes pleading. “Please let me help take them in.”

M considered his Quartermaster for a long moment, so long that Hamish though he had blown it. But then he smiled tightly. “You can conduct the interviews. Not the arrests.”

“Deal.”

There was genuine compassion behind M’s eyes for an instant, and Hamish did his best to keep his smile grateful rather than satisfied, at least until he was alone in the lift backdown to Q-branch. For the first time, he was grateful for the scars written across his body, for the way people had spent the first few weeks after he returned from Spain treating him like glass. He had hated it at the time, despising the pity and concern in his colleagues eyes. It had taken some pretty hardcore threatening on Eve’s part (that he pretended not to know about) to get people to treat him like normal again. But it seemed, when it came to getting what you wanted, being a little broken wasn't always a bad thing. 

God. Sometimes, he really hated himself. 

 

 

He had never understood the purpose of two way mirrors. Everyone knew exactly what they were (you could thank Hollywood for that) and anyone locked in a cell with one would automatically assume they were being watched. They weren’t fooling anyone, and Hamish had often bothered by MI6 bothered anymore. Now, he thought maybe he got it. Because he couldn't help but stare at the figure sitting cuffed to the table through the glass. Whatever he had been expecting, when 006 called in to report mission success, it certainly hadn't been her.

She couldn't have been older that sixteen, with dark hair in a tangled braid and a smatter of freckles across her face. She wore an old military style jacket far too big for her, and was sitting slumped over the table. He couldn't blame her. A dawn raid by Britain’s finest couldn't have been much fun. 

‘You ready?” Eve asked gently from behind him.

“You bet.” 

He leaned in close as she handed him the files, accepting the brief hug she offered. To anyone watching, it looked like a token of reassurance, another layer in the image of twitchy quartermaster. But no-one watching would have heard her whisper “What are you going to do?”, nor seen his grimace into her shoulder, as he realised he had no real plan for this. It would seem he was going to have to wing it, if they had any hope of pulling this off without tipping off the rest of MI6. Giving her a tight smile, he walked into the interview room. 

It was agent Davenport on duty, it seemed, and Hamish grimaced internally. Usually the arresting agent would see the case through to the end, but this could take weeks, and a 00 agent didn't have that sort of time to waste interviewing coders. Apparently, 006 had carried out the arrests as personal reparation, but had already been flown out to Bannock on another assignment. Shame really. Hamish would have much rather worked with him. Davenport was a talented agent, and a genius when it came to analysis, but he had always been a little heavy handed for Hamish’s taste, making up for a lack of natural intuition with a knack for intimidation. 

“Glad you could join us, Quartermaster,” he said cheerfully. Hamish ignored him, focused on the girl who was still glaring at the table. He sat down opposite her and opened her file. 

“Charlotte Jean Cole. Born in London, so far as we can tell, daughter of a Miss Madison Cole, and for the last sixteen months, a member of a group of computer coders whose interests spread a little further than app design. Am I right so far?”

No response. The girl remained stubbornly silent. Davenport started forward, growling “Don’t think you can try to-“ but Hamish held up his hand to silence him. Damn if a bit of authority didn't feel good once in a while.

“Look, I’m trying to do you a favour. We’ve got enough strikes against you to lock you up for pretty much as long as we feel like, but I don’t want to do that. There are some things you can help me with, and I’m happy to return the favour. I just need you to work with me.”

“So you’re the good cop then?” she asked, still looking down but with a hint of amusement behind her unmistakably London accent.

“I’m not any cop.”

“Cop, government suit, no difference. You gotta work off your rulebook either way.”

“I take it you don’t approve of the rulebook then?”

“Do you lock up many people who are overly fond of your rules?”

Hamish smirked at that, lips creasing briefly. Next to him, Davenport rolled his eyes. 

“Enough with the smart-arse act, sweetheart. These aren’t speeding tickets you’re looking at, and we don’t have all day. I want the names of your associates.”

“Pass.” she grinned.

“Nice try. Unless you fancy spending a long time in a cell somewhere, you’re going to tell me exactly who you were working for when you hacked into the MI6 server two and a half weeks ago.”

“If you think I’m just going to-“ The girl stopped dead, and narrowed her eyes. “What did you just say?”

“I want to know who hired you to break into our systems.”

Charlotte stared at him for a moment, then laughed, short and sharp. “Wow. I’m embarrassed for you. I never touched your systems, moron.”

This wasn't going well at all. Hamish glanced at the mirror, where he knew Eve would be watching from, as if she could magically think a solution at him. It was only a quick flick of the eyes, but when he darted them back to the scene, the girl was looking straight into them with a curiosity to her gaze. She hadn't missed the movement, and judging by the way he could almost see her brain slotting details into place, she hadn't missed the meaning either. Right on cue, she smiled at him, victorious.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

 _Crap_.

Abruptly, she turned to Davenport. “You know, I don’t like you much. I’d much rather have a chat with the beanpole over here.” Beanpole was a little harsh, Hamish thought, but she wasn't done. “And none of your microphones and cameras either. A private conversation, or I sit tight and you don’t get another word out of me.”

Davenport was turning beetroot red at an alarming rate, and Hamish wondered if he was going to have to put himself between the two. Instead, he took the agent by the arm. 

“Give her what she wants.” he whispered. “Ten minutes, no mics, just me. I might be able to get something useful out her.” And more to the point, she won’t go blabbing.

The agent glared at him. “You have five.” 

Hamish waited until the door had slammed shut behind him, and he herd the subtle click of recording equipment turning off before he slid back down into the chair. 

“Ok Charlotte. We need to talk.”

“Damn right we do. For starters, if you call me Charlotte again I may have to kill you. It’s CJ, ass.”

“CJ. Got it.” This was a terrible idea, Hamish could already tell. But it wasn’t as if he had much choice. One wrong word from this girls mouth could bring everything crashing down. “In that case, I’m Q.”

CJ rolled her eyes. “What’s going on? My record’s not exactly clean, but I sure as hell didn't hack into MI6. But then, you already know that. So why doesn’t your friend?”

Hamish grimaced. “Let’s just say he’s not as technically gifted as. But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that he continues not to know that. I know it sounds crazy, but a lot of lives could depend on it.”

She crossed her arms. “And why the hell should I believe that?”

“Because I’m not a cop, or a government suit, or another bureaucrat going through the rulebook. There’s enough of those out there. I’m just a guy who’s been sat where you’re sitting and is trying to make up for some pretty stupid mistakes. Believe what you want, but I’m telling you the truth.”

Charlotte stared at him for a moment, grey eyes perceptibly bright. Then, all at once, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I believe you. I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting when someone’s trying to screw with me.”

Hamish didn't doubt it. “So you’ll help me?”

“I didn't say that. What’s in it for me?”

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

“You’ll let me walk?” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t just let you go. That’ll look way to suspicious. But there might be another option. Charlotte… How exactly did you get caught up in all this?”

She shrugged. “It’s what I’m good at.”

“How good?”

“Very.”

She smiled, sure and confident, and for a moment, Hamish might have been seventeen years old again, making the same promise. God, he was defiantly going to regret this.

“Prove it. Stop looking over your shoulder and come work for me. You’re good enough, if you managed to piss off the government even before this whole misunderstanding, and I reckon you could make it all the way. I give you that chance, and you give me your word you’re not going to talk.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t. Maybe I just want to keep all my loose cannons in one basket. But if you must know, you remind me of someone I knew once. He was a good kid.”

“What happened to him?”

Hamish grimaced.  “You don’t want to know.”

 

As they spoke, all of the cameras and microphones in the room were off. All of the cameras and microphones in the room that Hamish knew about, that was. High in one corner, a beady lens was watching every move. Unseen by either of them, a tiny red light flashed once as it sent the signal across dozens of encrypted channels and out into the city. And somewhere, behind a locked door, a man sat watching the conversation play out on a screen in a room lit only by firelight. There was no sound to his video, but he watched Hamish walk around the room as he talked, stand up, sit down again, glance at the two-way mirror and back to the girl again. And when they shook hands, despite the heat from the flames, the man shivered.

“Oh Hamish,” Mycroft whispered softly. “What have you done?”


End file.
